The Hero's Hero
by Crescent Moon Dancer
Summary: Whenever there is trouble in Los Angeles, El Zorro always rides in to defend the weak, uphold justice, and generally save the day. But when does the man behind the mask ever sleep? And who is there to save him when his double life catches up to him? Who else but Bernardo, of course. (Pure friendship fluff, absolutely NO SLASH.)
**Disclaimer: Don't make me say I don't own Zorro, because the very thought makes me wanna cry.
**

 **This is a very weird fic, now that I go back and look at it in the early afternoon. At 3:30 in the morning, (which was when I posted it first,) it made perfect sense. XD**

* * *

Tornado's hooves thudded dully on the thick carpeting of silty dirt as the majestic stallion galloped into the cave. Zorro flung his tall, supple form out of the saddle, alighting gracefully, and pulled off his mask, allowing his hat to dangle by its cord around his neck. The handsome caballero-cum-vigilante beamed at his waiting manservant.

"Another job well done, eh, Bernardo?" He rubbed a gloved hand through his dark hair, chuckling at the thought of the chaos he left behind him in the garrison. It wasn't always easy to circumvent the soldiers and still uphold justice in a completely lawful manner, but sometimes he managed to pull it off with flair, the results being highly amusing.

Still grinning to himself, and ignoring the persistnet dizziness that plagued him, the un-masked man rubbed his faithful steed's nose and turned to face his two-legged friend - whereupon the smile promptly slid off his face. Bernardo was standing with crossed arms, his feet planted in a wide, aggressive stance, and he was glaring at his master most firmly.

"What?" Diego spread his hands helplessly. "No one got hurt...badly...and everything is as it should be. Why do you stand there with a face on you like thunder?"

The mute uncrossed his arms, gesticulating wildly; it made Diego's eyes blur trying to decipher it.

"Wait, wait! Slow down, my friend! I cannot understand you when you go that fast."

Making an irritated noise through his nose, Bernardo nevertheless acquiesced, slowly and deliberately pointing at his master.

"I..."

The small man shook his head, then pressed his palms together, tucked his hands under his cheek, and closed his eyes.

"...never sleep." Diego sighed, rubbing his forehead to ease the dull ache that had been pestering him lately. "Bernardo, we have been over this. I rest sufficiently after Zorro's nightly rides."

Bernardo didn't sign anything this time. He didn't need to. The look on his face plainly hollered _No you don't, you stubborn idiot!_

The young caballero pulled off his cape and gloves, tossing them to his manservant before planting his own hands on his hips. "Listen to me, my friend. I appreciate your concern - it is most gratifying - but there is simply too much to be done to waste time on sleep. Living a double life requires sacrifices to be made. I knew that when I became Zorro - and really, is it such a high price to pay for justice in Los Angeles?"

The little mute made a series of rapid motions that his master took to mean roughly _It is if you plant yourself in an early grave, stupid!_

Okay, so maybe Bernardo didn't sign the 'stupid' part. But Diego could read between the lines. He sighed again.

"Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, but this is the end of it. I want to hear...or see...no more on the subject. Alright?"

Clearly, it was not alright, and Bernardo made sure he knew it, in no uncertain terms. Driven by frustration and worry for his beloved master, he did something that he'd never done before and would probably never do again.

Seizing Diego by his ear like a naughty youngster, the mute marched him - loudly protesting - through the cave, through the tunnel, up the staircase, through the hidden door into the young don's room, and straight across to the mirror. Glowering fiercely, he jabbed his finger very decidedly at Diego's face, then at the reflective glass.

Admitting defeat, at least temporarily, the young man accordingly peered into the looking glass, examining his reflection with rueful chagrin. Dark, smudgy circles ringed his eyes, and his skin was both pale and flushed - a sure sign of a developing fever. With a pang of apprehension, Diego remembered how, in his childhood, he would get sick whenever he exhausted himself consistently.

Apparently, he hadn't quite outgrown that annoying habit.

Turning away from the mirror, he shrugged helplessly at his friend, who stood glaring at him again. "So, perhaps you have a point. But what am I to do? I cannot leave the people to fend for themselves."

Bernardo raised a very pointed eyebrow, and the young de la Vega bit his lip. "That came out wrong." He sighed for a third time, realizing that it was a little difficult to draw deep breaths. "Listen, Bernardo-"

His servant cut him off sharply, shaking his head vigorously, pointing at the caballero and then his own ears. His meaning could not be plainer: _No, YOU listen!_

Hands flashing rapidly, he mimed out very explicit instructions, but the room had decided to start buckling and undulating disconcertingly, and Diego found it increasingly difficult to focus on what Bernardo was trying to convey. Swaying, he reached out a hand to steady himself, and realized there was nothing there. Losing his balance for no reason whatsoever, he staggered sideways - right into the waiting arms of his loyal companion.

For such a small man, Bernardo had a surprisingly strong grip, and he held his master tightly to him 'til the walls stopped dipping back and forth. Once the don had reoriented himself, the mute guided him over to the large bed, plonking him down on the soft mattress and determinedly stripping off the black shirt before fetching his master's nightshirt. Realizing that resistance was futile - and uncomfortably tiring - Diego leaned down to pull off his boots.

Instead, he made an unplanned nose-dive off the edge of the bed.

Zipping across the room faster than anyone thought he could, Bernardo caught him before he faceplanted onto the hard, unforgiving floor. He heaved the taller man back onto the mattress, pulled off his boots, and peeled him out of his day clothes, which he heaped on the floor to be collected and washed later.

Diego, only half conscious at this point, was vaguely aware that he was leaning against someone's chest, and that someone was trying to pull a soft shirt onto him. At first he thought it was his father, but the arms were too short, and the chin that inadvertently bumped his head was too smooth. He puzzled about it for a minute, but then gave up and sank into the welcoming arms of much-needed slumber.

* * *

The first thing he became aware of upon awakening was the obnoxious brightness of the afternoon sun that streamed with aggravating cheeriness into his room and onto his already heated face. The second thing he became aware of was how very dizzy he was; and the third sensation that inflicted itself on his consciousness was that of extreme thirst.

Groaning, more from frustration than anything, Diego rolled over, and promptly wished he hadn't. Stationary misery was much preferable to mobile misery, apparently - but heavens, he wanted water!

Gritting his teeth, he gathered what little bit of strength he had left and sat up. He managed to stay upright for a grand total of four seconds before he started listing to one side, and the treacherous bed seemed intent on tipping him out onto the floor.

Next thing he knew, a pair of arms was around his shoulders, gently lowering him back onto the welcoming pillows, (which had very considerately cooled a trifle in his brief absence.) The young caballero blinked hazily up at the kind face hovering over him. His voice, when he spoke, came out a dry croak.

"Bernardo?"

The faithful mute, perceiving the hoarseness of his master's voice, hastily poured him a glass of water and brought over, carefully easing him upright and supporting his shoulders as he ministered the life-giving liquid. Diego drank deeply and gratefully, and, with a deep sigh of relief, lay back down. Bernardo drew a chair up beside the bed and sat down, peering anxiously into his friend's peaked face. The don managed a tired smile.

"Thank you my friend. I am alright now." A wheezy chuckle. "You were right - I did need to sleep." His eyes drifted closed again, and it wasn't long before his breath evened out and he descended into the blessed realms of healing oblivion again.

The little mute stayed where he was, gently stroking his master's hand where it lay on the covers. As long as he was there, no harm would come to Diego de la Vega.

As long as he was there, the famous, fearless, heroic Zorro - his beloved friend and master - would be safe.


End file.
